


rough-hew them how we will

by sincereously



Series: Valentines Rare Pairs Week 2020 [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, References to Sex Work, palmistry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22706269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincereously/pseuds/sincereously
Summary: Essie grabbed a pillow and made as if she were going to hit Sylvenna with it, but instead she brought it back down again just beside Sylvenna’s head. “Oi. You want to hear about the magic or not?”“I wouldloveto hear about the magic, dear,” Sylvenna said, sitting up and propping the pillow behind her on the headboard.In the last years of Viserys I's reign, nothing seems certain. Palm-reading's as good a way to predict the future as any.
Relationships: Essie/Sylvenna Sand
Series: Valentines Rare Pairs Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628242
Kudos: 1





	rough-hew them how we will

**Author's Note:**

> For the Valentines Rare Pairs Week on Tumblr - day 5, hands.

“Guess what I learned today,” Essie said, waking Sylvenna as she climbed into the bed. The morning light slipped through the curtains into their tiny room, tinting everything a light pink-gold and warming the blanket that was more patch and stitch than cloth by now. Essie’s son still slept soundly in his crib in the corner. Everything around them was blessedly quiet – or, at least, as quiet as things ever were in King’s Landing. 

Sylvenna found herself smiling as she rolled over. There was precious little to smile about these days, not when everyone took bets on how long the king would live and men drew blood in the streets over whether you wore green or black. But as she watched Essie fuss with the covers, practically bursting with energy even after a long night of work, she thought that even the Dornish sun couldn't make her feel as warm.

“What did you learn?” she asked, still half-asleep, nudging her head against the pillow. It was a common routine for them for as long as they had known each other. Yesterday morning Essie had talked about the way to rig a ship for river sailing, and the day before she had taught Sylvenna a dozen ways to curse in Ibbenese. “Educate me, Archmaester,” Sylvenna added, her tongue touching the corner of her mouth.

“You leave that off,” Essie said, but her words had no heat in them. “I learned…” she paused ponderously, raising her hands like a septa about to give an invocation, and Sylvenna nearly rolled her eyes, “ _magic._ ”

“Magic.” Sylvenna raised an eyebrow.

Essie grabbed a pillow and made as if she were going to hit Sylvenna with it, but instead she brought it back down again just beside Sylvenna’s head. “Oi. You want to hear about the magic or not?”

“I would _love_ to hear about the magic, dear,” Sylvenna said, sitting up and propping the pillow behind her on the headboard.

Essie bounced a bit, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “So after I took my last cove last night, I went out for a bite, and there was a new girl selling meat pies by Old Tom’s shop. I got t’eating and got t’talking, and she said she used to ride with this mummer’s troupe telling fortunes. I asked her how she did it, and she showed me how she read their hands to tell what was going to happen to them...”

Essie waved her own hands in the air as she spoke, wiggling her knobby fingers and cracking her rough knuckles, and as she continued to explain the wonders of the fortune-teller, Sylvenna found herself as caught up by Essie’s hands as by her words. Sylvenna and Essie both earned their bread from being touched, but for Sylvenna, Essie’s hands were the only ones that ever made her feel at peace.

“…so, anyway,” Essie said, “that’s how you do it.” She lunged across the bed, bowling Sylvenna onto her back, and Sylvenna was thinking of some very pleasant ways they could take this when Essie grabbed Sylvenna’s hand and rolled off of her.

Essie’s brows furrowed, staring hard at the lines of Sylvenna’s palm.

“Don’t see it?” Sylvenna whispered.

“Don’t rush me, I never tried it before,” Essie retorted distractedly. "All right, so, the line on the top, that's your love line."

"Oh, gods," Sylvenna groaned. "What does it say, 'this one's clearly a whore'?"

"It's deep, so that does mean deep love," Essie replied, shrugging one shoulder.

Sylvenna considered that for a moment. "Well," she said, "it's not wrong there."

Essie stilled at that, her eyes wide. "Oh, you," she said airily, bringing Sylvenna's hand closer to her face in a way that didn't quite hide her grin from Sylvenna's view. 

"Now here," Essie continued, "that's your life line. There's a little line crossing it, that can mean danger - "

"That's where I cut myself on some cove's cheap buckle the other day, Essie."

"Maybe that's part of the fortune too, you don't know!" 

Slowly, Sylvenna slid her own hands around Essie’s, bringing their joined hands to rest between the pillows.

“I never really believed in fortunes, anyway,” she said, “I always thought it was up to us to make our own destiny.” She rubbed a finger over the callus on Essie’s thumb and the scar where she had once burned herself trying to make candles, and looked up into Essie’s bright blue eyes and unusually still face.

“Not much of a destiny we can make, though, is there,” Essie said flatly, turning her head up to stare at the cracked ceiling.

“I don’t know about that,” Sylvenna answered, squeezing Essie’s hand.

“A couple of whores and a little boy? Maybe if the stars had been sweeter to us, we could get a destiny worth anything, but not with what we got.”

“It’s not the stars against us, it’s the people,” Sylvenna answered, her voice growing louder and firmer with each word. “And right now what they say goes, but they won't be there forever. Something's going to happen - "

"Now who's telling fortunes?"

"There's no magic to knowing that there'll be war. Right now the king can keep hold of the princess and the queen, but when he dies they'll tear each other's throats out. And what'll happen to King's Landing then?" Sylvenna reached out to cup Essie's cheek, turned Essie's face towards her own. "If they're gone, then there's no one saying what we have to be. We'll _make_ the stars be sweet to us. I could put some good Dornish sense into your laws, hells, you could be the Archmaester - "

Essie shook her head, but she was smiling. "Now there, you're dreaming a bit too high, Sylvie."

"Well," Sylvenna said with a rueful grin, "maybe you're right. Can't change everything at once, I guess. You could be…Lady Essie, there, how do you like that?”

Essie laughed. “Lady Essie sounds right strange, being honest. I’d have to come up with a better name.”

“We could make any name we wanted,” Sylvenna said, drawing close to her love in the light of the dawning day. 


End file.
